Mind Trap
by darkntwisted
Summary: Reid takes off on his own when the BAU didn't believe that there was a case in Chicago, Illinois. While investigating on his own he falls into a world unlike any he'd ever imagined. Super heroes were real? For Hawkeye, this was supposed to be an easy assignment. Mopping up one more HYDRA agent. Then things went terribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Mind Trap

Disclaimers: I do not own 'Criminal Minds', Spencer Reid, 'The Avengers', Clint Barton or any of the other characters I will use. They belong to the corporations and people who created them. I've simply borrowed them for a while. Once I'm done playing with them I'll return them to their cupboards, honest. Maybe a little worse for wear.

This story has not been nor will be beta'd. I write as I update. I try to catch as many mistakes as I can but if you notice something particularly glaring, please let me know. I will fix that.

_A/N: Okay. This is going to be a collaborative effort between myself and myownmind. Myownmind will be writing from Spencer Reid's perspective. I will be working from Clint Barton's perspective. Unfortunately, I don't think either of them will be cannon. I'm not very good at doing my research into characters' pasts. I think it just kind of screws me up. Sorry. If you read both stories there will be some echoing going on but hopefully not enough to be irritating. _

_Please review. I work faster the more reviews I get simply because they keep me invested in the story. That was a very subtle hint don't you think? LOL_

_Darkntwisted_

Chapter One

"What the hell?"

It was supposed to be an easy job. That's what Fury had told him. SHIELD may no long exist but there were still members of HYDRA to deal with. This was something that the assassin understood. This was something Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye, was very good at.

Still, he should have known. Nothing Fury ever sent him on had been quite as simple as the former SHIELD director had ever made it out to be. Why would things change now?

In position on the roof of a warehouse 100 meters from his target's position, Clint had his bow string pulled back to his cheek, prepared to take the shot until something else caught his eye in the gloom.

"Who the hell was that?" the brown haired archer muttered to himself. He was alone on the roof. SHIELD no longer existed so there were no other agents to back him up. Fury had Natasha on another mission and Rogers was off searching for his friend, the Winter Soldier. Clint was used to working solo. That part of this mission didn't bother him at all. The fact that he had been dispatched by Fury to deal with a Hydra serial killer also didn't bother him. The assassin had too many deaths on his hands one more wasn't going to make a difference. What bothered him was that he'd just seen a second figure moving around the target's building.

The Hydra agent was known to frequent the warehouse due north of the one Clint was on. He'd waited all day for the agent to appear. Now it was dark, very dark. The buildings around them were mostly unlit because of the time of day. The street lights didn't quite reach this far off the roads. All in all, it was a pretty crappy situation for an assassin.

As Hawkeye watched from his perch, the dark shape that had moved in the gloom became slightly more apparent. There wasn't much detail he could pick out but he could have sworn he saw large white letters written on the shape's back and that they spelled 'FBI'. Briefly silhouetted in a small pool of light, Clint got a better look at the shape. The FBI agent was tall, slim, seemed young and had unruly brown hair. Even though he was definitely not Clint's target, the young man moved stealthily around the perimeter of the building, heading towards the back. Since it was night, the young man would be virtually blind with the complete lack of light between the warehouses and the shipping containers that lined the edge of the parking lot. There was no way, without a flash light that he could see Clint's target skulking several yards ahead of him. The kid was using a small, powerful torch but the target had all ready seen the agent and was taking steps to remain hidden. Unfortunately, the place he chose to lay in wait blocked Clint's shot.

Releasing the tension on his bow string, Clint cursed under his breath. The kid was following standard FBI protocol for clearing the area, his torch and gun out but knowing his target, it wasn't going to help him. Still cursing, Clint slung his bow across his should and soundlessly dropped to the first landing on the fire escape below him. There wasn't enough time to stop the kid from being caught but he had to try.

Two minutes later, Barton was on the ground, lightly padding towards the shipping containers that separated the two buildings. Until now it hadn't been a problem, but now Clint either had to climb over them or sprint the 100 meters to either end, they were so tightly packed together. He could hear the kid's feet crunching lightly on the gravel behind the containers. Just as the assassin was going to shout a warning, he heard a grunt. Desperately, Clint scaled the middle container, ran along it's top and stopped at the other end to look down.

"Hello," a too calm voice stated from inside the pitch blackness Clint found on the other side. The kid's torch was laying on the ground to Clint's left, its beam of light pointed back the way the FBI agent had just walked, not helping at all.

"I thought I saw you up there Agent Barton," the voice continued. Just below the man's voice, Clint could make out ragged, uneven breathing. He had the kid.

"Come down and join us agent," the voice said still sounding very conversational. "Or I'll kill the FBI agent right here."

Options ran furiously through Hawkeye's mind. None of them were good. Somewhere below and to the right, Clint heard the kid grunt.

"Oh, that's right. You can't see what's going on down here in the darkness. I have a knife pressed against the FBI agent's throat. I'll slice through his jugular and carotid artery before you can rescue him. So, please, join us."

Frustrated, not coming up with a strategy to keep the kid alive, Clint took a deep breath, ran his left hand over his face and jumped down. The darkness below was complete. His target had planned well. Even with his excellent vision, Clint was completely blind. He heard the two shifting around slightly to his right as he fell but it was all he heard. Then his feet made contact with the ground. As Clint did, his right foot hit something round, causing it to roll away from the rest of his body.

Pain exploded through Hawkeye's ankle, nearly taking his breath away. All the archer allowed to escape his lips was a small grunt. Quickly he recovered; trying to stand despite the burning hot poker someone was pushing into his ankle.

"Not quite as graceful as they say you are," the voice taunted. Somehow the target could see in the dark without the tell tale light of IR goggles. That was piece of information was missing from Fury's briefing on the Hydra agent. Sometimes Clint missed the vast intelligence network of SHIELD despite the organization's vast flaws.

"Still, I will find you a challenge none the less," the voice continued. From the information Fury had given Clint he knew that the person speaking was nearly six inches taller than him. He had jet black hair with pale blue eyes. His build was similar to the FBI agent, tall and lanky. Hidden within that slight frame, however, was a great deal of strength. The file had the Hydra agent, who was known as The Reaper, listed as responsible for over 200 deaths. The thing that connected all the kills was that the victims showed no sign of violence, were mostly in perfect health with no history of cardiac disease and yet their hearts stopped. There was no medical explanation for any of the deaths. How this agent killed as still unknown. The man's resemblance to Loki was not lost on Clint either. A chill passed down his spine.

"Come along now, Agent Barton," the Reaper said. In the darkness Clint felt a hand come to rest on his right shoulder. Despite any resistance Clint mustered, he felt his body being drawn inextricably along with the images of his time being Loki's robot flashing through Clint's mind. Panic tried to overwhelm him. Clint barely managed to fight it down in the black void they were still in. Clint shuffled forward, his right ankle sending shock waves of pain through his leg with every step and kept trying to roll over. To Clint's right, he heard the FBI agent walking beside him. The kid was breathing heavily, clearly fighting panic as well, and yet he maintained a steady pace. Behind them, Clint could feel the Reaper less than a foot away.

"The three of us are going to get to know each other very well," the Reaper purred. Clint felt the man's moist breath pass by his ear and then the right side of his face. A chill began somewhere in the archer's soul and expanded.

The Reaper probably had hold of the kid's left shoulder just as he had Clint's right one. This was probably going to be Clint's last chance. Twisting abruptly, he sent a fist in the direction of the Reaper's head while he pushed the kid out of the line of fire. Just as his fist should have made contact with the Reaper's jaw, a car drove by some distance away, its headlights throwing crazy beams of light and shadow over the scene.

Effortlessly, the Reaper caught hold of Clint's fist with his hand, stopping the blow. A subtle movement of the man's leg and Clint was sinking to the ground. As he struck out with his right fights, aiming for a pressure point but the Reaper caught that one too. The grip on Clint's hands increased. Using every ounce of strength Clint had left, he tried to escape. The kid as on his feet, Clint saw him out of the corner of his eye. He had his gun in his hand, pointed at the Reaper.

"Let him go!" the kid warned in his best FBI voice.

A chuckle passed through the Reaper as he convulsively tightened his grip on the archer's hands. Clint gasped as multiple bones snapped simultaneously. Releasing Clint, the Reaper took a step back, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. In the darkness that surrounded their knees to the ground, the Reaper kicked out, causing Clint's damaged ankle to roll. Before the dazed archer could respond in his stunned sate, still trying to deal with the pain in his hands and the damage's ramifications, Clint fell into the FBI agent. The gun was knocked out of the kids hand to skitter somewhere in the darkness.

"Now that that's out of your system, shall we leave?" the Reaper suggested as he patiently waited for the two agents to extract themselves from the jumbled pile they'd become.

As soon as he was clear of the kid, Clint launched himself at the Reaper. Casually, the taller man struck Clint on the side of the head. A device hidden in the palm of his hand emitted a strong electric current on impact. Darkness descended over the archer's mind as his brain shut down. Nervelessly, he once again found the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello! No, I'm not dead. That would be the only excuse for taking this long to update my story. I'm extremely sorry. I could blame life, which did get in the way, or my muse, which has been in hiding for quite some time, but mostly it was just a complete lack of wanting to write. I'm not saying I'm better but at least I have come up with a short update. If you're still interested it shouldn't take me 15 months to update again. I hope. _

_Reviews would be greatly appreciated. I know a few people are waiting for an update but I don't think I've gotten a single review for this story. As I always say, it's hard to write in a vacuum._

_Thank you for sticking with me._

Chapter Two

The farm was particularly charming this morning. The light was perfect, highlighting the kitchen and activity room and throwing a warm, welcoming glow over the rest of the main floor. All of the renovations were complete. The kids were sitting at the craft table drawing or coloring, Clint wasn't sure which because he couldn't quite see what they were doing from ten feet away. In the kitchen Laura was humming quietly while she made breakfast.

Clint looked down at himself to see instead of the cotton shirts and jeans he preferred to wear at home he had on his uniform. The leather felt very much out of place in the tranquil setting.

"So, Clint, who sent you on your last mission?" Laura asked from the island in the kitchen. She didn't look up from chopping something.

"Why?" The word came out reflexively. Laura had NEVER asked him about his missions. Hawkeye's wife knew enough at this point that he would volunteer what he could about his job. The rest went unsaid. It was their way. It was why things worked so well between them.

In the back of the archer's mind alarm bells were clanging very loudly. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite see the details in the farm house. Under normal circumstances the archer knew every nook and cranny of the place. He'd renovated every inch of it himself after all.

Looking closer, straining his blue eyes, Clint realized that Laura had been cutting up the same onion for the last five minutes. The kids were silent as they worked studiously on pieces of paper that were still blank under closer inspection. What the hell?

"Loki," Clint said in answer to the question. It was the most outlandish response he could think of. Given his history with the dark haired god, Laura would know instantly that he was lying.

"Really?" Laura responded. Her voice was calm, not showing any response at all.

"Why would he want the Reaper dead?" Laura continued in the reasonable tone.

Clanging alarms moved to the forefront of Barton's brain. He could no longer ignore it. Slowly, he turned, taking in his surroundings with new eyes. As he moved from the kitchen towards the craft area the world shifted abruptly from the comfort of home to a dark, damp industrial setting.

"You're better than I thought," a familiar voice stated from four feet in front of him. Blinking rapidly to adjust his confused eyes, Clint found himself hanging from his wrists in chains that disappeared above him in the gloom beyond a single bare light bulb. The three sides of the building he could see were too far away. They appeared as nothing but darkness. Above Clint and to his left the FBI agent slumped in a similar position. The light bulb hung between them and cast a round circle of light that engulfed the two men and nothing else. Beyond the bright light the ceiling was inky darkness.

"You couldn't come up with something more original?" Barton inquired.

Standing in front of him, just inside the circle of light stood his target. Memories of his capture had flashed through the archer's mind while he'd taken in his surroundings.

"I like to start with the classics before I move on," the Reaper stated, a scary gleam in his light blue eyes. Out of nowhere, a chair scrapped across the floor into the light directly behind the man. It stopped an inch from the back of his legs. The Reaper sat on it, crossing one leg over the other and settling both of his wrists on the top most one. Leisurely, he rested his chin as his right hand came up to brace it.

"I supposed it'll be a waste of time in your case," he continued slowly scanning the Avenger with those blue eyes.

A shiver passed through Clint's body from his toes all the way to his scalp. He tried to hide his discomfort. Those eyes were too similar to Loki's. Memories of the god clamoured in the back of Clint's mind, trying to overwhelm him. In an attempt to calm himself, Clint tried to take a deep breath only to find he couldn't. Being suspended from his arms, the tense muscles were preventing him from breathing properly.

In a heartbeat, the pain he'd somehow managed to keep at bay this long pounced on him like a hungry cat. His hands sent lightning bolts of agony down his arms, cutting down even further on how deep a breath he could take. A quiet grunt escaped the archer's lips as the side of his head and his right ankle announced their displeasure as well. Staring at the man in front of him, Clint tried to blink the tears away that had sprung into the corners of his eyes in response to the pain.

"You lasted longer than everyone else I've ever had the privilege of knowing," the Reaper stated. His tone was still strictly conversational but there was something lurking in the back of the man's blue eyes that set Clint's nerves on edge. A slow smile spread across the man's face. "I have always loved a challenge."

One second the Hydra agent was sitting comfortably in the chair. The next he was standing in front of Clint. There had been absolutely no transition. Involuntarily, the archer pulled back from the tall form invading his personal space. The slight movement sent shockwaves of agony through his hands, head and ankle. The world blurred and began to darken just as Clint felt warmth against his left cheek. Then the world vanished.

AAAAA

"What do you think?" the Reaper's voice was very close, too close. Clint tried to pull away but found he was riveted to the spot, unable to even move his eyes. Before him spread out a beautiful, green forest. There were no trails that Clint could make out in the dense underbrush. He also wasn't sure of what kind of trees made up the forest except that they were all deciduous, not an every green in sight.

"What the hell? Where are we?" Clint breathed. The place wasn't familiar at all. Being an assassin the archer tended to remember every place he'd ever been to in the world. This didn't appear to be one of them.

"I'm a little distressed, Agent Barton, that you don't recognize your own home," the Reaper stated.

In a micro second, Clint was standing in his living room again. The abrupt change took him a moment to adjust. His house looked exactly as it had the last time he was home, right down to the clothes his wife and children were wearing.

"This is not my home," Barton grated as he turned to look at the dark figure standing beside him. For a split second Clint had a sense of de ja vue. Wasn't this like the angel of Christmas present in 'A Christmas Carol'? Giving himself a mental shake, Clint eyed his captor with utter distain.

"Then perhaps you would prefer this?" the Reaper asked, his voice never losing its conversational tone.

Clint's eyes were forced down to his hands. Suddenly they were healed and he was holding his bow in his left hand and had an arrow nocked with his right hand. A quick glance at where the arrow was aimed sent a spasm of fear through the archer's being. He was aiming at his daughter's heart. Slowly, having absolutely no control over his own body, Clint felt his arm draw the bow string back, his aim never wavering.

Oblivious to the danger, the young girl had her head down, concentrating on drawing on the blank piece of paper. As he watched, Clint saw his daughter scrunch her mouth up as she moved a green pencil crayon over the paper, leaving not a mark on its white surface. Beside her, her brother was equally unaware as he too drew.

"Don't do this," Clint breathed as he reached full extension and paused to ready the shot.

"This is all you, little man," the Reaper responded. For the first time there was emotion in the man's voice, glee.

Just as Clint's involuntarily released the arrow, Lila looked up at him, her eyes large with complete trust and incredible love. Still as a statue, Barton watched helplessly as his daughter's face, still shining with such love and trust crumpled as the arrow sliced through her small chest and impaled her heart.

"No!" Clint screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I swear I will get it done even though I've started a new story with Clint and BBC Musketeers. Believe me, this story isn't leaving me alone any more than the rest of them ever have. If you like what i've written please take the time to review. I know it's a bit of a hassle but it means all the world to those of us who write. Thank you very much for the two people that reviewed the last chapter. I am extremely grateful!_

_As always, I don't own anything except for my own character, the Reaper. He's all mine. If he resembles any other character in the Marvel or DC Universe copyright infringement is not intended. I really think this is my original character. _

_As always, this is a beta free zone. Please be patient. _

_Enjoy!_

CHAPTER THREE

The world swayed like he was on a ship during high seas. Swallowing bile, Clint hated to admit that he was prone to bouts of sea sickness. In the darkness of his mind, the Avenger slowly became aware of more and more aches and pains as he drew closer to the surface. Part of him would have prefered to stay in the darkness, to avoid the torment he knew lay in the light, not to mention the fact that he had been kidnapped AGAIN! Fortunately, the older, more mature part won, forcing him to survive the nausea and the pain. While he dealt with the internal hell he was in, the archer was blind to what was going on around him.

That in itself was throwing him off. The random lightning strikes of pain going off in his hands and ankle were really hard to ignore too. Then the fact that he was having trouble breathing properly announced itself with a vengeance. What the hell?

In a blinding flash, the memories of what had happened to him flowed over the archer. Son of a bitch! Not more mind control. Cursing every single curse he'd ever learned, Clint forced his eyes open to quickly scan the area around him.

No longer in the warehouse, Clint found that the world had transformed into a mad scientist lab. Somehow that wasn't any better. While he took in his surroundings, the archer tried desperately to ignore the images of his daughter dying. He knew they weren't real. But the gut wrenching possibility was almost more than he could life with. His eyes took in the white tile, the mechanical chairs and the FBI agent were strapped to while his mind went over and over what had happened in his house. Bile threatened as he inspected the bindings holding him to the chair.

The pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain in his mind. With a mental shrug, Clint shoved it kicking and screaming into the darkest, most isolated recesses of his mind. Ignoring his hands, oh God, oh God, and his ankle, Clint looked at his fellow captive. The young agent was slumped in the chair, clearly unconscious. On a rolling medical table, an empty syringe and needle sparkled dully.

With a deep sigh, he rested his head back onto the chair. How were they going to get out of this one? He wondered. Moving as few muscles as he possibly could, Clint pulled a thin, round piece of wire out of a small pocket in the piping of his uniform. Being an agent of SHIELD he'd learned very early on to always be prepared. It took everything he had to hold the wire. His hands were aching so badly that tears were blurring his vision. Random sharp pains flashed from his finger tips to his elbows.

Sweat broke out over Clint's skin, making using the wire even harder. With a conscious effort, the agent took slow, deep breaths as he slipped the wire into the lock on the strap holding his right hand. One slight twist and the wire went spinning away as Clint's hand cramped into a claw. Any attempt to remain calm vanished as the pain turned from a stabbing line to an all encompassing inferno that went from his finger tips, around his wrist and forearm to his bicep and triceps, all the way to his right shoulder.

"Well now. I suppose I should have known that you would try to escape," the familiar voice of the Reaper rumbled from behind him. Closing his eyes to try to gain some composure and knock the unshed tears out of them so he could see better, Clint once again forced his agent expression over his face.

"We can't have that, can we?" the Reaper continued as he stepped around Clint's right side to lay his hand on the archer's right forearm and gently squeezed. The pain skyrocketed once again bringing a roaring to his ears that muffled the next words the Reaper said. Clint struggled valiantly to break his way out of the world of agony and haze he found himself in. Despite every technique SHIELD had taught him and he'd figured out on his own, the world contracted harder, the walls became higher and more dense.

Chuckling to himself, the Reaper took his customary position on his rolling stool. A quick look at the twisted lips, the tightly closed eyes and the sweat beading on his forehead and lip, a smile graced his thin mouth as he placed his hands on either side of the Avenger's head. He had to make sure that the man wasn't able to escape. He also had to make sure that he wasn't injured any more than he currently was. He hadn't been paid to collect the Avenger so damaged that he couldn't be used.

The images in the man's mind revolved entirely around the damage to his hands. He was an archer. He had to be able to grip the bow, the arrow, to draw back the string. In his current state, none of that was possible. What was he to the others if he wasn't Hawkeye, the man who never missed? Underneath those thoughts were other, better buried ones. He didn't have time to delve into them at the moment. Once he finished what he'd come in here to do, though, all bets were off.

With practiced ease, the Reaper found what he wanted. Following the nerves back to their origin, he touched them, electricity crackling along his fingers. The nerves jumped and twitched and slowly turned an unhealthy black colour. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to those memories and thoughts the man was so desperately trying to ignore.

Beneath the pain and darkness, the Reaper found images of life of an Avenger. Not all of them were full of violence and blood. Not all of them involved saving the world. Some of them took place in the Avenger's living room. He was getting warmer, the Reaper could feel it. Parting the walls, he found the archer in a bedroom with a woman he instantly recognized as his wife.

"You think they don't need me," Clint said, pain and insecurity wrapping itself around him, trying to take the archer's breath away.

Ah, huh! The Reaper thought. That's it. That's the man's deepest, darkest fear. That he was the only one among the Avengers that was completely human. He was the easier to hurt. The easier to capture, as he himself had proven. The weakest link. Well, that was something he could easily use to break the man as his contract had stipulated. Grinning, the Reaper backed out of the man's mind. He would let the archer stew in what he'd just done for a few hours before he proceeded with the rest of his plan. Still very pleased with what he'd accomplished, the Reaper stood from his stool and left the room.

OOOOO

Slowly, with infinite care, Clint once again used his ability to compartmentalize his emotions to take control of the pain. It took a lot longer than it should have. Clint could only assume that the reason was because of the depth of pain that had assailed him. Swallowing thickly, he took a deep breath and forced his eyes open.

Nothing changed. Fear spiked through the archer's body. If his hands were free, he would have reached up and touched his eyes to see if they were actually open. As it was, he opened and shut them a few times before he gave into the realization that he was blind. The world fell out from under his bound feet.


End file.
